This blog is not affiliated in any way with Cindy Crawford. Even if she is its de facto inspiration. It's also not affiliated in any way with Hayden Panettiere, who's earned joint top billing on this blog because she makes me happy. And that ain't easy.

Monday, September 18, 2006

Why?

So on Saturday I'm walking down Kilburn High Road after looking inside a Blockbuster, and suddenly I hear a woman screaming that she's being robbed - out comes a teenager with several DVDs running for it. I run after him, but since he's younger and lighter than I am there's not much chance of my catching him - especially since he says "I got a knife" just before chucking the DVDs over a brick wall.Yes, I did see a police car coming along; yes, someone asked me if I managed to catch him; and yes, I did look into looking for them on the other side of that wall (I couldn't get to them). But I should have caught the guy. I should have gone back there a little sooner. And I shouldn't have been put off by his threat.I don't know how to feel. Proud that I tried to do something good? Bad that I confirmed what I knew all along - that I'm a coward? I'll settle for frustrated. Frustrated at myself for not getting the kid; frustrated that people will do stuff like that for a damn DVD.And sorry that I couldn't do anything for the woman in the store; she was crying about what had happened, distraught. That was worst of all. For her sake, I hope they catch the little shit. Or if they don't, I hope the DVDs he stole freeze up.

The James Horner Spot.

The Tell Them Who I Am Spot.

...is a 43-year-old guy who likes listening to film and TV music, whose days of eating entire packets of biscuits are gone thanks to the ol' diabetes, whose hair - thanks to genetics - now has a bald spot on top but who is fortunately 6'2" so it's hard to see, who enjoys the box (particularly American shows - and the often-made British claim that "we only see the best of US TV" is a fallacy as anyone who has cable will testify. I think it's Americans who only see the best of Br... I hate that term, so I refuse to sully this blog with it), who's gotten most of his friends through stories and the net, who loves writing about attractive female celebrities, who slaves at a direct mail company, and who isn't as sorry he grew up in Barbados between 1976 and 1993 as he used to be. Oh, and he doesn't seem any emotionally different from when he was 12. A man really is a child grown up, child is father of the man, and so on...